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There is a change in the air that I cannot explain. Hadrian will no longer look at me. He received a letter from the Kingdom of Fire with a proposal. Of what kind, he will not say. I fear the worse.

Tabitha Wysteria

Time dripped like honey, thick and unyielding, each passing day leaving behind a whisper of footprints upon the darkened earth, only to be swallowed by time itself—buried beneath fallen leaves and the hush of the wind.

The land was already beginning to forget her.

Soon, it would no longer carry her essence, no longer hold the weight of her presence.

And so Mal did what she had always done: she honed the edge of her blade until it gleamed like the promise of blood, spent her mornings sparring against Kai beneath the grey skies, her afternoons kneeling in the temple, whispering prayers to gods that had never answered, and her evenings seated beside her family, wrapped in conversations about the looming event.

Her wedding.

It still felt like they were speaking of someone else.

As if the girl meant to walk down the aisle in barely two weeks was a stranger, someone who lived within a different body, breathing a different fate.

She tried to summon an image of herself bound to a prince she had never met, but all she saw was a nameless shadow.

No, not nameless. The Fire Prince. A man whispered to revel in cruelty, in conquest, in the suffering of others.

Yet, strangely, she did not cry. She did not weep into her pillows or curse the fates for the path before her. Mal was no captive bride; her father had given her a choice. He would have refused the proposal if she had asked.

But she hadn’t.

‘Are you even listening?’

Mal blinked, torn from her thoughts. Haven stood before her, holding up a gown of midnight cotton—a garment their mother adored. Mal, however, despised it. Too much fabric, too many layers, a thing of suffocation and restraint. A dress ill-suited for a warrior.

‘You should wear this when we arrive,’ Haven suggested.

Mal scoffed. ‘I cannot ride in that.’

Haven rolled her eyes. ‘Mal, you know Father will not let you land on the Fire King’s doorstep atop a wyvern.’

‘Why not?’ Mal challenged.

‘Because you’re marrying the Fire Prince.’

‘I fail to see the correlation, sister.’

Haven sighed, exasperated. ‘They think we are savages, Mal. If you arrive on wyvern-back, hair unkempt, in one of your torn dresses—’

‘I will make an impression,’ Mal interrupted, smirking.

‘Mal—’

‘If the Fire Prince desires a wyverian bride,’ she declared, crossing her arms, ‘then he will get one.’

Haven laughed, and the sound struck Mal like a blade of light cutting through the dark.

Would she ever hear it again? Would she forget, in time, the melody of her sister’s mirth?

She wished she could capture it, bottle it in a glass vial, keep it tucked by her bedside for the nights when she would be alone.

‘I doubt the prince wants a wyverian bride at all,’ Haven admitted.

Mal waved a dismissive hand. ‘Then he is most unfortunate. He is stuck with me regardless. I am wild and untamed, my feet more accustomed to mud than marble, my arms bruised from battle, my hair free and knotted from flight. I will not apologise for who I am. Not for them.’

Pride flared in Haven’s dark eyes before it vanished, fleeting as the glint of a blade.

She moved towards the corner of the room, her fingers grazing the armrest of a small settee.

The chamber was warmed by the low-burning fire, yet Mal preferred the cold—the kind that seeped into the bones, a numbing embrace beneath the weight of thick blankets where the world could not touch her.

‘I have always envied you,’ Haven said. The necklace draped about her throat stirred to life, gliding with sinuous grace along the delicate curve of her collarbone, before coiling its way towards her arm.

It was Haven’s shadow—no mere ornament, but a serpent cloaked in illusion, often mistaken for an innocuous adornment upon the princess’s regal form.

Many were the fools beguiled by its shimmer, blind to the peril it concealed.

For that serpent, that whispering shadow, bore a lethality as precise and unforgiving as the edge of a finely-honed blade.

Mal ignored the snake that now observed her with curiosity and frowned. Her sister—the future queen—envied her ?

‘For what?’ she asked, disbelieving.

Haven did not look at her. Instead, she traced a slow path towards the window, her gaze drawn to the red moon rising beyond the jagged peaks.

She absently caressed the shadow-serpent as she spoke, her fingers drifting over its inky form with the ease of long-forged familiarity.

Yet Mal could not help but notice the creature’s unblinking gaze—fixed upon her with a quiet intensity, as though it saw far more than it let on.

‘To be fourthborn may seem a curse to you, but to me…’ Haven exhaled, shaking her head.

‘You have lived a life of freedom, Mal. You were never bound to a throne, never shackled by duty. You spent your days training with Kai, your sword nearly an extension of your hand. You lost yourself in the library, devouring tomes with Kage until you both fell asleep among the pages. You were able to choose.’ Her voice was soft, edged with something fragile.

‘I have spent my life preparing to be queen. Every step, every breath, was dictated before I could even speak. I have never been free.’

Mal opened her mouth to argue, to tell her sister how terribly wrong she was. That Mal had never been free, not truly. That she had been a caged thing, too afraid to spread her wings for fear of what they might reveal.

But Haven lifted a hand, silencing her before the words could form.

‘However, dear sister,’ Haven continued, her voice quieter now, heavier, ‘I do not envy you now. Not for what lies ahead. Not for the fate that has been decided by men too old to surrender their pride.’

Mal’s lips curled into a wry smile. ‘I must admit, I do not envy myself either.’

The silence stretched between them, a ghostly thing curling in the air. They both turned towards the bloodstained sky, watching as the night unfurled its dark embrace over their kingdom. In mere days, they would fly beneath that very sky, towards a land unknown .

‘I have heard rumours that the Fire Queen is a delight ,’ Haven remarked, voice light with unspoken warning.

With a silken hiss, the shadow-serpent recoiled, retreating in a swift, fluid motion to curl itself loosely about Haven’s wrist. There it lay, motionless and poised, its dark form so artfully still that to any onlooker, it might appear nothing more than an ornate bracelet—an accessory of quiet elegance, hiding danger in plain sight.

‘Is she?’ Mal’s smile sharpened. Her fangs glinted in the moon’s glow. ‘Then I suppose we must make an entrance worthy of impressing my future mother-in-law.’

Haven smirked, eyes gleaming. ‘They call us savages,’ she whispered.

Mal’s fingers curled into a fist.

‘Then let us show them what savages are truly capable of.’

The quiet rhythm of footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor, a measured, regal cadence that heralded the arrival of the queen.

Draped in her evening gown, jewels glinting like captured stars at her throat and wrists, Queen Senka entered the chamber with the effortless grace of a woman who had long ago mastered the art of commanding attention.

Mal, as always, was woefully underdressed in a simple white cotton gown, her bare feet whispering against the cold stone. The queen’s assessing gaze traced over her daughter, sharp and unimpressed, before she made a soft sound of disapproval.

‘When you live in the Fire Kingdom, you will not be able to waltz around in such dresses, Mal.’

Mal rolled her eyes, exasperation curling at the edges of her breath. ‘Oh, not you too, Mother.’

The queen exchanged a knowing glance with Haven, a secret, mischievous smile passing between them, and Mal’s stomach tightened in foreboding. That look meant she was about to endure one of their tedious lectures, undoubtedly on matters she had no patience for.

Queen Senka moved to the settee where Haven had been lounging and seated herself, her keen gaze sweeping the chamber as though cataloging the imperfections of a child’s untidy room. ‘The fire isn’t strong enough,’ she mused. ‘We ought to strengthen it, or you’ll catch a cold tonight.’

‘Mother,’ Mal protested, throwing Haven a pleading look. ‘I prefer the cold.’

‘Yes, I suppose you do.’ The queen’s expression was unreadable, though a flicker of something—sadness, perhaps—crossed her face. ‘Not much good it will do you in that kingdom of fire.’

Haven cleared her throat, clearly eager to shift the conversation. ‘Mother, shall we—?’

‘Dear, I must speak to Mal alone now.’

A silent exchange passed between the sisters. Mal’s fingers darted out, grasping at Haven’s hand, but the future queen merely blew her a teasing kiss before slipping from the chamber, leaving Mal to face their mother alone.

The air grew heavier, thick with unsaid words.

The queen exhaled softly. ‘My dear child… You will be married soon.’

‘I am aware,’ Mal replied, shifting uncomfortably.

‘The Fire Prince is known to be…’ Queen Senka hesitated, her usually precise words faltering.

‘When a man and woman are bound in marriage, it is expected that they will consummate the union on their wedding night. Sometimes, this can be a beautiful thing. But other times…’ Her expression darkened, voice dipping to a near whisper.

‘Other times, it is not so kind to the bride. And knowing what we do about this prince… I fear yours will be the latter.’

Mal’s jaw tightened. ‘I am not afraid of him, Mother.’

The queen leaned back, her gaze drifting over the chamber as though it pained her to look at her daughter.

‘No, you never have been afraid of anything, Mal. And that is what makes you so very special.’ She sighed, smoothing the fabric of her gown with absent fingers.

‘But you must listen to me, child. The pain of steel cutting flesh in the training yard is not the same pain a girl feels when she is claimed.’

Mal lifted her chin. ‘So the process is painful, then?’

She had overheard the whispers of maids speaking in hushed voices of their wedding nights, some murmuring of blood staining their sheets. Pain, then. There was always pain.

The queen pressed her lips together. ‘At first, yes. But then… it is not.’

‘I can withstand pain,’ Mal said with certainty. ‘The High Priestess explained the mechanics of it. I understand what is expected.’

The truth was, despite the nature of their people, Mal had never lain with anyone.

Not because of any rule or expectation—queens and kings were not expected to remain untouched before marriage—but because she had simply never cared to.

Perhaps she had always known, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, that her body belonged to something greater than fleeting pleasure.

The queen’s sigh was soft but weighted. ‘Mal, this prince is a wicked boy. We have all heard what he does when he hunts witches.’ A shadow passed over her face.

‘It will hurt. All of it. And you will not enjoy it. You will pray to the gods for it to end.’ Her voice broke slightly, an unfamiliar sound that made Mal’s stomach twist. ‘But it will end.’

For the first time, Mal was shaken. She had not considered how deeply this would wound her family. She had not given much thought to the weight of her decision beyond the kingdoms and the prophecy. But now, staring into her mother’s eyes, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.

Had she been so consumed with saving the world that she had forgotten what it might cost those she loved?

‘He will not hurt me,’ Mal said, voice quiet but unyielding. ‘I will cut his throat open if he tries.’

One might have expected the queen to chastise her daughter for such words, to remind her of duty, of peace, of the delicate nature of politics.

But instead, Queen Senka turned her gaze upon Mal and smiled.

It was not the soft smile of a mother nor the sorrowful smile of a queen sending her daughter to a foreign land.

No, it was something darker. Sharper.

A wicked, lethal thing.

A smile that, in every way, matched Mal’s to perfection.